


Inspiration and Interruption

by Fenchurch87



Series: Tales of Kirkwall (and Beyond) [9]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:13:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28671318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fenchurch87/pseuds/Fenchurch87
Summary: Anders attempts to write his manifesto, only to be interrupted by a certain woman. Originally written in response to a writing prompt on /r/dragonage.
Relationships: Anders/Female Hawke
Series: Tales of Kirkwall (and Beyond) [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1086066
Kudos: 5





	Inspiration and Interruption

_Andraste suffered at the hands of magisters. Thus, she feared the influence of magic. But if the Maker blamed magic for the magisters' actions in the Black City, why would He still gift us with it?_

Anders paused and read through the paragraph again. It was good, he decided, but it needed something more. Something to draw the argument together. He stared at the words, deep in thought, until inspiration struck. Smiling slightly, he dipped his quill in the inkwell and returned it to the page.

_The oppression of mages stems from the fears of men, not the will of the Maker._

“Knock knock!” called a familiar voice and he turned to see Hawke standing in the entrance to the clinic, carrying a bowl covered with a cloth. “Am I interrupting?” she asked.

“No, of course not.” He ignored the building irritation in the furthest corner of his mind and gestured to her to approach.

“I haven't seen you for days,” Hawke remarked as she set the bowl on the table. “What have you been doing? You haven't been holed up in here all this time, have you?”

“I've been working.”

“So I see.” Her gaze took in the scattered papers and his ink-stained fingers. “What on? If you don't mind me asking.”

“I'm writing a manifesto. To show the people of Kirkwall that the Chantry's oppression of mages is unjust. And that our Maker-given gifts should be celebrated instead of feared.” The presence in his head hummed approvingly.

“Can I read it?” Hawke asked, a spark of excitement in her green eyes.

“You'll be the first to see it once it's finished,” he promised, and was rewarded with a smile that made his breath catch in his throat. Maker, she was beautiful. How would it feel to brush her cheek with his fingertips, to run his hands through her rich auburn hair?

_No._ Such thoughts were dangerous. She deserved better than the pain and destruction a life with him would entail. If only he could stop thinking about her.

“Did you remember to eat today?” Seemingly unaware of his inner turmoil, Hawke had wandered into his tiny living space and was opening and closing his cupboards, shaking her head over what she found there.

“Yes...?” he ventured but his growling stomach gave away the lie.

“I thought as much.” She returned to the bowl and carefully uncovered it. “I brought you some soup.” She slid the bowl across the table to him and a delicious aroma drifted into his nostrils. “Don't worry,” she added with a conspiratorial grin, “I didn't make it. Mother did.”

“Are you sure she doesn't mind you giving her cooking away like this?”

“Mother always makes enough to feed an army, she won't miss one bowl of soup. Anyway, I told her I was thinking of bringing you some, and she said I should do it.” She paused and eyed him, another smile playing at the corners of her lips. “She loves you, you know.”

“She does?” That was a surprise. “Why?”

“She hasn't forgotten that you saved Carver's life. And you remind her of my father, as she insists on telling me at least once a week.”

“I see.” He tried a mouthful of soup and found it pleasantly spiced, warm and hearty, and packed full of the tenderest bronto meat he had ever tasted. “Thank you, Hawke. I really appreciate this.”

“You're welcome.” She watched as he took another spoonful of soup and then turned away with a sigh. “I should let you get on.” She paused briefly in the doorway, haloed by the twinkling lights from the lanterns. “Take care, Anders,” she said quietly, and then she was gone, stepping carefully between the piles of muck that lined the streets of Darktown.

He picked up his quill and returned to the page in front of him. He had completely forgotten his next sentence, he realised, but in truth he didn't mind.


End file.
